Courier Six
by Crazyninjadude15
Summary: A story of loss and revenge told by Magnus Thorne, known as Courier Six or Death's Messenger, a middle-aged, stone-cold mercenary known and feared by many of the Wasteland's denizens.
1. Chapter 1

Courier Six, Chapter One

The Crew

 _I go by a lot of names. Courier Six, Death's Messenger, Thorne. But only one of those is close to my given name._

 _My name is Magnus Thorne. And I'm one of the most dangerous, tough-as-nails, proficient cold-hearted bastards on the face of the Wasteland. Hell, I'm even a boogeyman parents use to get their kids to sharpen the hell up. "Better behave or Ol' Thorne'll get ya!" Heh._

 _You can probably tell I'm not one of them local heroes who help the helpless and kill the baddies. Heh, my name may mean 'great,' but I ain't close to a great person. I'm great at what I do. And that's killing. My profession is death-dealing. You name the man to kill and the price, he's good as dead._

 _But, even the most cold-hearted killers have their families. Biological or not. My family is my crew. My, motley band of misfits, you could say._

 _And each family's gotta have the mother. That mother's name is Aelia. She used to be one of them healers from Caesar's Legion. Despite being part of that group, she's rather friendly. She was the sole survivor of an NCR raid shortly after they successfully fought off the Legion in the battle for Hoover Dam. That was about, ten years ago, I was thirty then, and she was forty. She basically mixes random shit together to make drugs strong enough to send a Super Mutant sky-high, and other medicinal shit. Never liked using it, though, not that gentle on my head. The others are alright with it, though._

 _My right-hand-man is quite a piece of work. He's a bit younger than me, mid thirties. Goes by this Code of Honour. His name's Gideon, he's the perfect guy to infiltrate a high-security building, but the only issue is that he refuses to kill anyone in cold blood. Sure, he'll sneak past pretty much anyone, but he'll fight his target head-on, and even though he uses swords, and swords only, he always somehow makes it to his target without getting hit more than twice. Gideon and I ran into each other during one of my contracts, and he happened to have been sent after me, then the guy I was after. Some sort of mix-up. After a long fight which ended up with both of us pretty cut up, me from his sword, him from my bayoneted Brush Gun, Deadeye, we were too exhausted, and too impressed, to kill each other. After I explained why I was there, trying to kill the guy he was also sent to kill after killing me, he seemed awfully confused. Apparently, the guy who sent Gideon told him I was hired by my target to kill Gideon's client. After realizing we were hired by the same guy, we agreed on killing him together._

 _And of course, I couldn't leave out our tinkerer and craftswoman, Blaire. She's made some damn fine contraptions, for killing, sneaking, moving, not dying, and her own... personal uses, but I ain't going to get into details. Blaire approached me one day while I was dropping by Goodneighbour, after a lengthy job that started in the Mojave and somehow took me to the damned Commonwealth. Still pissed off about that. Anyways, Blaire approached me rather excitedly, seemed like she was a fan. At first, I suspected she'd give me a good flashing, but then I realized she was much more proud than that, which was a relief, honestly. I hate dealing with that sort of attention. Instead, she offered me a deal. She would supply me with her own contraptions and such, in exchange for protection. Seemed like a good deal, stick around this chick to scare the piss out of anyone looking to cause trouble for free shit, but I wanted to see what I was getting in to, just in case this girl was actually shit at making things. I was pretty damn impressed by what I saw. She's repaired an old, burnt out Power Armour frame with nothing but a dozen old motors and a handful of broken energy weapons. So, I took the deal. Haven't regretted it._

 _And then, we've got Jared. The only way I can explain to you his usefulness to the crew is this. He's a waste of skin when he's sober, but he is unstoppable when he's drunk. If you believe there isn't a single person in this world that's useless, Jared's the living proof that you couldn't be more wrong. He serves absolutely no purpose when he's sober. He pisses people off, he can't lift anything for shit, he's dumb as a rock, he couldn't see a wall with a telescope, and he would end up stabbing himself if he tried twirling a toothbrush between his fingers. The only reason he's alive is because he's probably the luckiest person on the face of this fucked-up planet. Funny how that works, huh? When he's drunk, he ain't any smarter, hell, he forgot how to breathe one time, but something in his brain switches on once the slightest bit of alcohol shows up in his veins. One time, he foiled an entire Gomarrah-run plot to take over New Vegas, just by chatting up this girl while he was wasted out of his mind, and happened to overhear a conversation happening in the room nearby while they were getting it on. The girl quickly caught on that they should go somewhere else, but of course, he didn't. He ran into that room and yelled at them to shut the hell up because he was trying to get it on, and when they started to draw their weapons, he just went apeshit on them. Meanwhile, the girl was freaking out and not long afterward, I caught wind, then heard gunfire and heard Jared yell at the top of his lungs, "Can't a man have sex in peace!?"_

 _That was the only reason I let him stick around. Because he is the only drunk that I know that could foil a plot carefully planned by some pretty damn dangerous masterminds, while he was wasted._

I hear the obnoxious, barely adult-sounding voice that always ruins my mood. "Hey boss!"

Shit, speak of the devil.

I turn around to look at the rather unattractive, spindly, whiter-than-white person, Jared, who just floundered into my room. "What do you want, Jared?"

God damn it, he's got that stupid grin on his face, he wants something.

"I couldn't help but notice that damn-fine boomstick Blaine's working on. Who's getting it?"

I was hoping that wasn't what he wanted.

"Not you."

"Come on! Why not?" He makes his "I-know-exactly-why-you-said-no-but-I'll-act-like-I-don't" face, the one I hate the most, accompanied by a "what the hell?" gesture.

"Do you remember the last time we let you use a sawed-off shotgun?"

He stops and thinks for a moment.

"It's a trick question, dumbass. You were wasted and you shot up the entire Ultra Luxe Casino!"

He speaks in an obnoxiously sarcastic tone. "Oh yeah! I also discovered that they were serving everybody human flesh!"

"Which would've been fine, if you didn't yell out to everyone, including the Military Police, who you worked for. Being "Death's Messenger's Messenger," wasn't nearly as funny as you thought it was."

"Come on, it won't hap-"

"You got your answer, now bugger off and bother somebody else, I'm writin.'"

With the most annoying groan, he complies and goes somewhere else. Probably to bug Blaire. Poor girl.

"Now, where was I...? Right. Just capped off Jared's deal."

You may be wondering why a stone-cold, near heartless killing machine who's only in it for the money would keep a journal. Trust me, I'm clueless too, I just thought it was a good idea.

Right now, we're in our Commonwealth Safehouse, just a little ways away from Vault 111. Some Brotherhood of Steel pawn came to us one day back at the Lucky 38 and offered us quite a deal. The Brotherhood wants us to get them a foothold in the Mojave, after the last of their bunkers over there got blown up. By someone who may or may not have been equipped with full NCR Riot gear, a custom Brush Gun with a bayonet that goes along the length of the barrel, and twin, custom, Desert Eagles.

Yeah, I blew up the Brotherhood, so what? They took my shit. If anyone touches my shit, I'll break their neck and piss on their grave. Or blow up their home, in that case.

Moving on.

The Brotherhood offered us a hundred thousand caps if we helped their forces gain a foothold in the Mojave. Why they just don't fly in there with their big-ass blimp, couple hundred Vertibirds, and giant, Pre-War Anchorage-Bot, I don't know. But with that kind of money in it for us, I'm not complaining. Though, before I took the deal, I wanted to talk with the guy in charge, make sure this is legit. And that they didn't know I blew their guys to hell and that this wasn't some trick.

We were told to head to Diamond city and wait at the Dugout Inn. Honestly, I'm glad they picked that place. Vadim Bobrov makes the only moonshine I like. Plus, we get along very well. A couple hours of subduing Jared brought us a little closer together. Long story short, we both learned not to give Jared Bobrov's Best, at least, not a single bottle. One'll put him into rampage mode, two'll knock him out.

I hear the door open again, and assume it's Jared.

"God damn it, Jared, I told you no!" Rather than seeing Jared's ghost-white, bony form, I see Gideon's muscular yet agile, black-skinned body.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, Gideon. Jared's been antsy since he saw the shotgun Blaire's workin' on."

"Trust me, we've all been suffering, Magnus."

"Let's just hope this trip is worth it. And that shotgun is given to somebody very soon"

"Indeed."

"Now, what did you need, Gideon?"

He seems hopeful. "I believe I found someone who might prove a valuable member of our group."

"Really? Who's this person, then?"

"To really understand her potential, you'll have to see for yourself. She requested for your audience specifically."

"Really? Well, let's see her then. Where is he?"

"She said to meet her at the Robotics Disposal Site a ways away west. I'm sure you'll be impressed." The look on his face matches his confidence. It's usually pretty tough to impress Gideon, so I'm sure this trip will be worth it.

"Alright. I'll go take a look at her. You hold down the fort."

Gideon nods in his usual, respectful way. He's got a lot of respect in that Code of Honour. Since we first met, he's shown a lot of it. "Respect your equals," or something like that.

I shut my journal and shove it in a drawer in the desk, grab my helmet, then leave the room. Immediately after, I hear a small bang come from the room where Aelia and Blaire do their work, followed by Aelia cursing in a language none of us can understand.

As soon as I open the door and breathe in, I know one of Aelia's gas bombs went off and my vision immediately goes woozy.

"Gah, piss! Not this shit again!" As quick as my arms can handle, I put my helmet on, which purifies the air I breathe in.

Thankfully, it was only one of her "fuck with poor sods' heads as much as possible bombs." It's like making them high without the high part, just weird vision. The problem could have been much worse.

I hear Blaire, in her slightly British accent, yelling around the corner. "Where's my damn gas mask!?" She coughs. "Screw it! Too late!"

I look around for Jared, but it looks like he buggered off as soon as the bomb fell.

I chuckle at the thought. A lot of people wanted to bugger off when bombs fell.

As I open the door to vent the room out, I grumble to myself. "Damn idiot closed the door behind him."

Aelia speaks up in an accent none of us have really been able to identify, probably a Legion thing. "Very sorry about that, you two. Too many bombs, accidentally elbowed the pile and saved all but that one."

Blaire responds. "Don't worry about it, Aeli. Could've been worse."

"Yeah. Don't worry 'bout it." I help Aelia put the rest of the bombs away. When we finish, I grab my guns and head to the door.

"Gideon's told me of some potential recruit. I'm going to look at what she's got to offer. If Jared needs straightening out, let Gideon know."

"Alright. You behave yourself." Aelia says, rather mother-like.

"Yes, mother." I say with a small hint of jest. I never really change the tone of my voice. Not much. It's that little hint of emotion that most of the crew look for, to tell if I'm actually serious or not. Except Jared. I don't think he'll ever catch on to that.

I leave the door open, since the room hasn't completely vented out yet, and see Jared.

"Is the room vented out yet?"

"It's vented out enough. Leave the door open next time."

"Mhm."

As I walk past him, he heads back to the Safehouse, and as I expected, closes the door behind him. He tends to stop listening when his question's answered.

I stand and wait to hear see Jared open the door again, and laugh a bit when it happens.

I continue on my way through what used to be a forest surrounding the Safehouse. After a couple minutes, I run into Vault 111. Weird. That elevator wasn't up last time I was here. I would investigate, but I've been in my fair share of Vault-Tec's shit. From sentient plants to goddamned child army training shit, I've had enough of it.

I move on through a rundown place that locals call "Sanctuary." It's abandoned, and falling apart, and as usual, I see the lonely, slightly civilization depraved Mister Handy unit, trying to maintain his long dead master's house. Calls himself Codsworth. Major case of denial.

I continue past the Red Rocket station, and immediately upon entering Concord, I hear some rough, scratchy voices.

"Hey, asshole! Where do you think you're going?"

Great. Raiders.

It's not that I can't handle them, it's more the fact they think they can handle me. They know who I am; they know how tough I am. They know I traveled through the Divide and back, scaring the piss out of everything that lived there in the process, and they think they could do the same better.

"To hell, eventually. Just thought I'd get someone to save my spot for me." At that, I draw my pistols faster than they can point theirs at me, blast the middle guy's brains out, and then point each gun at the other two.

They immediately surrender.

"Listen up, children. If you think it's impressing to act like you're better than someone who could clearly kill you before you even let off a single shot, it isn't. It really isn't. It's just annoying. It's a good way to get yourselves killed." I laugh. "I dunno why I'm telling you this, I'm gonna kill you either way." Immediately after saying this, I shoot them both in the head.

After holstering Bane and Tempest, I reach into my pocket, and pull out an envelope and a piece of paper, that has my "emblem" spray-painted on it. I slide the paper into the envelope, shut it, and place it in one of the raiders' pocket. You could call it my calling card, but really, my bag came with a bunch of these envelopes and I don't like wasting things.

"Fuckin' idiots." I continue walking.

Once I make it to the Robo-dump, I immediately notice a Sentry Bot among the scrap heap. It notices me too, and quickly mobilizes.

"For the love of fuckin' God." Quickly, I draw Deadeye, and aim at the Sentry Bot's head. One mistake and I'm Swiss cheese.

I fire once, it ricochets off the face plate. I don't have time to pull the lever and fire again, so I just curse and dive to cover.

The Bot spins up its twin miniguns, but before it fires, it seems to just shut down.

I cautiously poke my head up from cover to see a woman tapping away on a Pip-boy, a much better Pip-Boy than my own.

And suddenly, the giant, three-legged rolling death machine whirs back to life and I immediately get down.

The woman speaks with a heavy Australian accent. "Don't worry, mate. It won't shoot."

An Australian? Damn. Don't see many of them. More likely to find one on the moon than here.

I poke my head back up. The hulking tin can just stands there.

"You controllin' that thing?"

"Yep."

I'm feeling pissed off and impressed at the same time.

"Fuckin' scared the piss outta me." I stand up. "I'm guessin' you're the chick Gideon was so impressed by."

"That's right, mate. If you thought you were scared, ya sould'a seen him!" She laughs. Quite lively, her. She seems like she can pull her weight, too.

Grinning under my helmet, I chuckle. "Well, we do share a sense of humour, it's a start. Anyways. I'm guessin' you're some sorta tech wiz or somethin?'"

"Yep. I can take this thing apart and put it back together blindfolded! I can even mash a bunch of bots together, to make a Frankenbot of sorts." Confident, too. Good to see.

"Frankenbot, huh? Sounds pretty useful. What about combat? You any good with a weapon?"

"Plasma's my specialty." She rests her Plasma rifle, which from what I can tell is actually a Scattergun, on her shoulder.

"I hope you know your way around those. Blaire's no good with Plasma weapons."

"No problem, mate. I know my way around these things." She might be handy. I'm sure she'll fit in.

"Good. One more thing." She's very attentive. Good to see.

"Yeah?"

"How tolerant are you?"

"Of what?"

"Stupidly obnoxious drunks."

She looks slight bewildered for a moment, but shrugs. Doesn't seem daunted yet. "I was raised by one, so I know my way around 'em."

I chuckle. "Jared's a different case. You'll see." I remember I don't even know her name. "I'm pretty sure you know who I am, but I don't know who you are."

"Becca. Nice to finally meet ya, Thorne."

"You can call me Magnus, kiddo."

"You'll be glad you let me stick around, Magnus."

"I hope so. Let's go. You bringing the tin can?" I'm good at hiding my excitement. After twenty years of having these tough sons-of-bitches thrown at me, I finally have one boss around.

"Yeah. If you don't mind."

"We got some space we can clear. A whole garage, actually, just crammed full of stuff we haven't gotten to searching. Now's a good time to clear it."

"That'll do perfectly."

I sling Deadeye snugly on to my back, then turn to walk back to the Safehouse.

"You'll have to show how good you are in close quarters when we get there." Before she makes a remark about her Scattergun, I add, "Too close for your Scattergun."

"No problem, I can handle myself."

"I can guess that, but can you handle me and Gideon?"

"At once?"

"I ain't merciless. I just want to see what you're made of."

"Phew. I was worried there"

I laugh. "Welcome to the Crew."

As we make our way back, I learn quite a bit about her. I didn't ask her any personal stuff, I'm not one to go that deep into a person's past. She was raised by her dad, who was a raging alcoholic. She spent most of her time in the garage not far from her home, and with the mechanic who worked there. She liked to help him when he was fixing the local robots. Hence her expertise. She tried to get the Mister Handy back at Sanctuary to come with her, one time, it refused though, and its dedication to maintaining its master's property convinced her not to simply wipe its coding.

When we get back, I let Becca rest up, she's been on her feet for a while, so she deserves it. When I return to my room, I place my helmet on the coat hanger in the corner of the room, place my weapons in their cabinet, and continue to write in my journal.

 _Despite how reluctant I was at the start, it's nice, having a family like this one. I may be heartless, but even the heartless have a soft spot, somewhere, at least I do. And if that means I'm not heartless, so be it. I can at least seem that way to others. There may be a day where I lose them, but, I think, it would be worth every moment I had with them. And Jared, if you're reading this, I will hunt you, (Or haunt you, if I happen to be dead.) until the end of your days._

 _I don't really know what we'll do with a hundred thousand caps, or where we'll keep them, but we'll have a metric ass-ton of spending money, that's for sure. Maybe we can deck out the Safehouse, get a couple turrets, maybe some better equipment and gear. Maybe one of those TAC things. Target Acquisition Computers, can see poor bastards through walls. If the thing's compatible with the Riot Gear, at least._

 _I fought a guy with one of those before, he was able to escape before I could finish him off, though. He almost got me. Just barreled through a wall into me. Nearly spiked me through a stray rafter. He was a good fighter, I'll give him that. Just too confident. If you're too confident, you make mistakes, openings._

 _So I took the advantage, and made a couple openings in his stomach. Not sure if he lived or not. I doubt it. Don't really care, either._

 _We're moving on to Diamond City tomorrow. Good opportunity to stock up on ammo and other essentials, and catch up with Vadim, see how he's doing._

I close my journal and have a quick bite to eat before calling it a night.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Courier Six, Chapter Two**_

 _ **The Deal**_

 _It's not every day that I let someone in to the crew. Honestly, I think I'm taking a risk doing that. But the truth is, I've got a feeling that we'll need someone good with robots and energy weapons. If this Maxson kid knows I blew their Mojave bunker to high heaven, this job is rigged, and if it's rigged, we're gonna need some firepower and know-how. Becca's the know-how, and the firepower will be determined later. I've got favours to spend at Arturo's little shop for saving his kid. I'm sure I can work something out with him._

 _Becca's a god damn savant with robots. That Sentry Bot that she has is basically an immovable barricade with guns on it. Used a lot of the scrap we cleared from the garage and spare parts from old power armour frames that were broken beyond Blaire's repair to make a fucking terrifying tower of metal. They strapped two mortars on its back and with Blaire's help, replaced the miniguns with gatling lasers. I'm just glad we won't have to fight that thing, because Jesus Christ, that thing would gun us down quicker than an angry Deathclaw kills Gunners. Not to mention the armour plates they put on that thing. Makes me wish we cleared that garage out sooner. Whatever was in that garage before the bombs was some pretty heavy duty stuff, and when I say heavy duty, I mean_ heavy _. Heavier than that thing's standard plating, heavy. Industrial grade stuff. I've seen a lot of custom-built robots in my journeys, a lot of them are crap. This one, this one is top-fucking-notch._

I hear Blaire yell. "Jared! You put that spray can down, I swear to god! I already told you we aren't painting the damn thing pink!"

Soon after a pause I hear Jared yell out in pain, and the clanging of metal on the floor. Not a wrench, from the sound of it, a small ratchet, at least. Blaire doesn't have much patience for Jared, to say the least. I at least would have given him two chances, she only gives him one.

"Ow! Why are you always throwing shit at me!?"

"Because you're always fucking around with serious stuff!" I begin to hear movement.

Becca speaks in a worried tone. "Hey, guys, calm down a little."

God damn it. They're at it again.

I get up and quickly make my way to the garage just in time to split up the developing fight.

"Hey! Both of you!" I push them away from each other and place myself between them. "You guys gotta stop fightin.' I know Jared's unbearable, but he ain't trying to kill you. Lay off each other."

After exchanging glares, they stand down, and return to what they were doing.

As I leave the room, speak in a gruff tone "We're movin' out in twenty."

Still sounding pretty sullen, Blaire's the only one to respond. "Got it."

I decide to check on Gideon. Probably sharpening his sword outside. When I leave the garage and stop at the main room. It's modest, the building itself was probably a mechanic's workshop, when I found it; there was a lot of old motors and chassis. Where that industrial-grade metal came from, one could only guess. The place wasn't claustrophobic, but it wasn't spacious either. In the largest room, Aelia has her little drug-mixing setup going on, around the corner, Blaire has her workshop set up, it isn't big, don't really need too much, just a bench or two to work on. Gideon has his grindstone just outside, spends most of his time either on that stone, or smacking the shit out of a target dummy. I walk into the room to see Aelia working on one of her potions. She hates interruptions, so I let her work, and step outside, where Gideon is, as I previously mentioned, smacking the shit out of a target dummy.

"Don't you think you're past targets that don't move?"

Gideon waits to land one last blow on the target's neck before putting his training sword down.

"When one passes a certain level of training, that never means they leave it behind."

"You know, Gideon, I will never understand how you live as you do."

"I am well aware of that, Magnus." He grins. "When will we be leaving for Diamond City?"

"Twenty minutes. I don't know why I bother asking, but are you packed up?" Gideon's possessions are all that he wears. A backpack, with basic provisions, a sleeping bag, tent, some rock he calls a whetstone, a flashlight, and of course, his armour, made mostly of leather. He lives humbly.

"As always."

"Thought so."

I, however, I don't know how he manages to live the way he does. In a way, that impresses me. As you may have guessed from how far I went to make the Brotherhood in the Mojave regret taking my stuff, I hold each of my possessions very dearly. _Especially_ my guns. If anyone touches my guns without my consent, which I will never give unless absolutely necessary, I will make sure they regret it.

"I heard commotion from inside, I assume Jared got excited again?"

"Wanted to paint the tin can pink."

Gideon chuckles. "Cannot say I'm surprised."

Gideon seems to ponder for a moment, he does that from time to time, very ponderous person.

"You do truly fear that they know about the bunker?"

Honestly, I didn't expect him to ask me that, but I guess I didn't try to hide the fact I was suspicious of the offer. I didn't meet Gideon then, but he heard about it, and heard about me. When he got to know me, he put two and two together and figured they pissed me off.

"Wouldn't be surprised if they did."

"And that's why you let Becca join."

"Never hurts to have a girl and her Sentry bot help out."

He nods in agreement. "If it could scare you and I; I very much doubt anyone else could look at it and return its gaze."

"Anyone who's smart, at least." I add.

He nods as he chuckles. "Indeed."

"You ready to move out?"

"As always. Let's gather the others."

"Why did we have to set up so far from Diamond City, anyway?" Jared whines. "That's where pretty much all of our clients here ever want to meet us."

"Because if we set up in the middle of the city, the whole building would have been looted by raiders or scavs. And we have some pretty valuable things, so quit your bellyaching."

"Alright, alright." He hefts his near-empty back-pack, as if it were straining him.

We move on through Concord. There's something about the place I don't like. Streets turn sharp, one day I saw a Deathclaw, dead. Whoever or whatever passed through there was a tough son of a bitch. Not only all of that, the place just looks... Sketchy. Even by post-nuclear-apocalypse standards, it looks sketchy. At least in my opinion.

Anyway, moving on.

We move on through Concord, normally, we'd see Dogmeat, the local dog, but for a couple weeks, he's been gone. Poor guy. Probably snatched by some raiders, or a predator of sorts.

After a lengthy trek, we make it to Cambridge.

As she looks to Becca, Blaire speaks up. "You been to Cambridge before, Becca?"

"No. I've always been told by locals to try to avoid the place."

Gideon joins in. "For good reason." He stops and prods a ghoul's corpse, located just between him and Becca. "Have you seen a feral before?"

"No. Now I wish I hadn't." Becca appears thoroughly disgusted.

"Don't we all." I add in.

I'm not a fan of ferals. Then again, nobody is. I just like them a little less. Especially the ones that try to sneak up on you. They've gotten the jump on us from time to time. I stop to inspect the corpse.

The thing's real damn ugly, eyes are bone-white, no pupil, no iris. Barely any of its greyed skin left on it, bones are easily visible.

Worst of all, it isn't dead. I quickly draw Bane and put a bullet between its eyes before it can get up.

Immediately after, screams coming from many others break the otherwise silent air around this place. Becca grabs her scattergun off of her back, Blaire draws her Sawed-Off, Gideon draws his sword and Aelia, her dagger.

Before drawing Tempest, I move in front of Jared. He's sober, therefore, at risk.

"C'mon! I don't need to be defended!" In frustration, he tries to push past me as he draws his pipe pistol.

You may be saying, "Whoa, whoa, hold up. You give the one of the toughest guys on your team a _pipe pistol_?" Yeah. I do. Here's why.

If he's sober, when he fucks up, it won't be too fatal. When he's drunk, he doesn't need it. He's more than likely to rip a better gun from somebody's hands after shooting them in the knee with his own.

Back to the crisis at hand.

We got about 10 ghouls running at us from a couple of alleyways ahead of us. Before Jared runs ahead, I grab his shoulder and tug him back.

"You're too sober for this!" The first time I've ever told him that, it sounded ridiculous. You get used to it.

This would've been the perfect opportunity to test out Becca's Sentry, but it isn't quite done yet, apparently. Looking forward to seeing it in action.

Blaire lets off both shots in her Sawed-Off, sending the two leading ghouls flying back. Becca covers her as she reloads; the plasma from her scattergun turns three other ghouls into a puddle of slime. Seeing that always makes me cringe, bad way to go.

Gideon silently charges the ghouls, quickly and masterfully slicing ghouls left and right. I'm almost glad to notice more ghouls on their way; I don't want to miss out on the fighting.

"More ferals on their way! Keep your eyes open! Watch each others' backs!"

I aim both pistols and fire on ghoul after ghoul, a bullet for each. They go down easy enough.

Aelia is hanging back; she's not really a fighter. She can if she needs to, as all members of the Legion did, but she prefers to hang back.

"Magnus! We've got a Glowing One headed our way!"

In case you didn't know, Glowing Ones are glowing ghouls. They've been exposed to radiation for so long, their piss isn't the only thing that starts to glow. Not only that, but they become a radioactive hotspot, making them pretty dangerous up close.

Swiftly, I holster Bane and Tempest. "Shit. Hold on."

Quickly, I run up to meet Gideon, who's much farther ahead. While I'm running, I grab deadeye off my back.

"Get ready to move Gideon!"

I'm in range but Gideon is in the way, it would take too long to move around him. For situations like this, we've come up with a little maneuver.

"Now!" Gideon leaps upwards into the air, high enough for me to slide under and get a shot into the target.

I slide and quickly aim Deadeye, and get the perfect shot. Upon impact, the ghoul's head explodes into a green, glowing mess.

Gideon lands behind me and immediately resumes slicing up ghouls, everything in the immediate area is red mixed with a bit of green.

The fight's essentially over, and the last of the ghouls are cleaned up and dealt with.

Laser fire can be heard not too far away, in the general direction of the police station.

"Ya think those people need some help?" Becca asks. She's new to the whole mercenary business. I can tell.

"Nah. Those guns belong to either Brotherhood or Gunners. Gunners'll shoot you, or very rarely pay you next to nothing. Brotherhood won't pay you at all and threaten to shoot you. Besides, if it is Brotherhood, I don't want to talk to them unless it's about the job. They don't need help, anyway."

"Fair enough."

"I suggest you keep that in mind, if you hear gunfire. If it's laser fire, it's most likely those two kinds of people. _Unless_ the time between shots is rather long. Then it's probably Minutemen, who pay somewhat decently. If it's conventional weapons, it'll be hard to guess. I usually just assume it's Raiders."

"Alright, I'll take that under advisement. Thanks." Becca beams me a smile. I simply nod.

"No problem. Let's keep movin,' we're runnin' low on daylight."

So we move on. Doesn't take too long to get to Diamond City. By the time we get there, about six o' clock in the evening. When we arrive, we're greeted by the place's usual appeal, just on the line between mildly interesting and boring. To anyone that came from a Vault or something, the place was a dump. The buildings are barely holding themselves together, if a cloud looked at them funny they would fall apart.

The people aren't much better, either. There's the general goods vendor, Myrna, who always keeps tabs and prying eyes on everyone at all times. She's one of those people who believe the whole world's got it in for her. Though, Arturo isn't so bad. He sells guns and ammo, which automatically puts him on my good side, but other than that, he's just a guy trying to make a living, and I can respect that.

Moe Cronin, however, isn't really in my good graces. He hasn't done anything to me, no, I just don't like him. He tells everyone this far-flung theory of what baseball was. Honestly, it's a load of bullshit. I have no way of knowing, I'll admit that, but I honestly doubt "baseball" translates to "gladiatorial combat." But he makes a profit, I'll give him that.

Other than those three and the Bobrovs, I don't really know many other people in the city. I wouldn't really care to, anyway.

"Here we are, the "Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth." I exclaim, sarcastically. "Not much to look at, huh Becca?"

She shrugs, seems like she's seen more impressive things, too. "Seen better."

"You ever been to Hoover Dam? You get quite a view of the Mojave up there. Sight to see."

"I'll have to keep that in mind when I find myself in New Vegas."

"Oh, believe me, Becca, he takes us there _every_ time we go to the Mojave. You'll see it. Over, and over, and over again." Jared groans. He's never been one to appreciate scenery, as you could guess.

"Quit your bellyaching, it never kills you to take in the scenery every once in a while, Jared." Blaire says in an upbeat manner.

"You guys know the drill. Just chill out for a bit, socialize, trade, whatever you guys do when I'm gone." I order in a mock-serious tone. Already moving to the Dugout in, I offer everyone a wave, while still facing away from them.

I'm looking forward to talking with Vadim again. It's been a good couple years since I was in the Commonwealth last. I'm sure word's already spread about my arrival. I don't usually care much about rumors and gossip, but if you want everyone to know that you're coming, gossipers are the best way of making that happen.

As I pass by the shops, I take note of the people's behaviour. Myrna gives me her usual suspicious, cautious evil-eye, nothing's wrong on her end. Arturo is bright and cheerful, seems his family's good now. Moe's swinging his "Swatters" with pride, showing them off to potential customers, everything's normal. Usually, I'd be disappointed, that usually means no jobs, but today, that doesn't matter.

You could say I'm in a good mood, and by my standards, I guess so. A bar is the place I feel at home. It's not because of the booze, the women, the dancing. No. Just the talking, the jobs, and the far-fetched stories. And that's exactly what I'm welcomed to when I enter the Dugout Inn. Plenty of happy bar-goers having a good time, laughing, shouting, etcetera.

"Hey! Magnus! Is that you?" I hear Vadim's extremely thick Russian accent as clearly as a leaking sink in a silent house. "Get over here and pull up seat! I get you drink!" Glee lights up the man's face. He was destined to do what he does. He's got the charisma, charm, and toughness to run a successful inn.

"A glass of your best, have I got a story to tell you, Vadim." As I take off my helmet, I take a seat on one of the stools and set it on the bar.

"Oho! I was hoping you'd say that!" Vadim exclaims as he makes way to the back room, to get a bottle of their homemade moonshine, Bobrov's Best.

"It's good to see you again, Magnus." Yefim says in a quieter manner. He offers me a nod, which I return with a smile.

"Likewise. It's good to be back."

Yefim's the more sensible of the two. If not a little boring. He doesn't seem to like Vadim's humour. I can see why, I won't deny that, his brother's sense of humour's pretty dark, which I enjoy, but Yefim obviously doesn't. Doesn't mean he should get out of his way to put a stop to it.

It takes just a couple seconds for Vadim to return with my drink. I start to reach for my caps to pay, but Vadim stops me.

"No need, friend, first drink on the house!"

I reach for the glass he slides to me and gracefully catch and bring it to my lips. Immediately after taking a sip, the moonshine's powerful flavour kicks in. It's been a while since I've had one.

I recoil a bit and shake my head, to recover from the kick.

"Something wrong?"

"No, just forgot the drink had so much kick." I say with a laugh.

Vadim lets off a hearty laugh. "How about your story, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Guess how many caps I'm going to get for my next job." I make it obvious that it's a lot.

"Ten thousand." Vadim says, very sure of himself.

"Nope."

Surprised, he raises an eyebrow.

"Twenty?"

I grin. "More."

"Fifty?" He asks in disbelief.

"One hundred."

Vadim's jaw drops in awe, and Yefim spits his drink out in the background.

"A hundred thousand bottle caps? You're not serious!"

"Have I ever lied to you, Vadim?" I ask, grinning.

"Well I don't know," he says, clearly joking. "is your name even Magnus?"

We both laugh.

"Who hired you? I can't even think of anybody with that many caps!"

"Brotherhood."

"Really? They're actually paying someone, and not telling them that being near them should be good enough?"

"Yeah. Came to me as a surprise, too. They're paying each of us ten thousand caps in advance, too."

"You could retire with that kind of money, Magnus!"

Suddenly, the door slams open behind us and three heavy-sounding pairs of feet are heard moving towards us. Vadim looks up and looks shocked.

"Ah, boys! What can I get you, huh? Bottle of Bobrov's Best?"

A gruff voice replies.

"You know what we want, Vadim. The caps. Now."

"Ah, well, you see... I don't have the money at moment, give me a week, and I'll be able to pay you gentlemen back. Sound go-"

"Did I fucking stutter? I said now. If you don't pay us the caps right now, I'll drag you to my boss and he'll beat the caps outta you!"

As I take a sip of my moonshine, I turn to face the thugs.

"Boys, boys, let's calm down here. He said a week, didn't he? If you and your boss aren't in crippling debt to someone else, I'm sure you can afford to wait."

The punk who seems to be the leader of the three, glares at me. He's got a scar down the middle of his face.

"Oh yeah, who said you're part of this?"

"I did. You're messing with my friend. And if you're going to fulfill your promise, you'll have to deal with me, first."

"If you know what's good for you, you better sit in your fucking chair, old man."

I let off a chuckle. "Listen up son. I'm under the impression you don't know who I am. So I'm only going to say this once. You're free to leave this place with your dignity, and come back in a week. If you don't, I'll have to teach you kids some manners."

"I know exactly who you are, gramps, and I ain't going to let some rumors scare me off. Sit down and mind your own business."

"Well." I finish my moonshine, and set the glass down. "I warned you. Vadim, if you wouldn't mind refilling my glass."

The leader runs at me, fists at the ready. Just as Vadim picks up my glass, I grab the back of the thugs head and slam it into the bar, then pull him away, sending him stumbling backwards. With a bleeding nose, he merely shakes it off.

"The fuck are you two doing!? Get him!"

The two goons run at me, just close enough so I can use their speed against them and punch both of them in the gut. As I expected, they both double over. I take advantage of that by grabbing them by their collars and throwing them into each other. They collide head-first and fall over, cursing.

Before I can react, though, the leader plants his fist right on my nose. I recoil and stop myself on the bar.

"Quite a punch. If only your manners were as good as that."

He charges in for another punch, but I catch his fist and pull him into my knee, knocking the wind out of him. I shove him backwards and turn to be greeted by a stool being swung at my face.

I bend backwards just in time to avoid it. I recover, and when the goon swings again, I grab it mid-swing and kick him in the stomach. As expected, he lets go and falls onto a table, where an unfortunate couple are eating.

Instinctually, I swing the stool beside me and nail the second henchman on the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

Seeing as I had the time, I carefully place the stool where it seemed to have been before, and narrowly dodge the thug attempting to leap on my back, who, unfortunately, made my careful placement of the stool pointless, as he breaks the stool under his weight.

I hear the unsheathing of a knife and sense that these punks no longer wanted to teach me a lesson. They were getting desperate. I turn around and grab a knife-wielding arm, and strike the elbow with my knee, most likely breaking or dislocating it. My thoughts are confirmed with a sharp _crack_ and an agonized scream.

Before the leader of the thugs gets up, I draw Bane and point it at his head.

"Look, kid. I don't want to do this in front of all these bar-goers and ruin their happy hour. So just leave with your casualties while you still can."

"Alright, alright." The kid takes a moment to catch his breath. "You win. We'll leave."

"Good." I holster Bane and let him get up.

Before he can even hit me, I know that he's trying to fake me out. If I were someone else, probably would have worked.

I punch him dead in the face and knock him unconscious. Just as his body hits the floor, I turn, sit on my stool, and grab the glass of moonshine as it slides to my general area in one smooth movement. As I take a sip, I grab some caps to pay for the drink and the broken stool.

"Keep the spare caps. They're for the stool."

Vadim nods. "Thank you, friend." He smiles.

"It's what friends are for." I wipe some of the blood off my face. "A rag would be nice. That guy sure has a good punch."

"Coming right up."

I offer the thug dragging his unconscious leader a sarcastic wave. He scowls back. I look beside me at the second thug I hit with the stool, he seems to be stirring. If he knows what's good for him, he'll leave.

When Vadim returns with a rag, I gratefully take it and dab the blood off my face.

I hear the door open and close again, and guess it's just the goons leaving, but after a couple of seconds, I feel something light slide into my pocket. I grab a hand that happened to be close to that pocket and look at the owner. He appears to be shocked, if not nervous.

"Tell your higher-ups that you can just tell me. Just be quiet, is all." I let go and let the man pass. I grab the piece of paper in my pocket and read it.

 _16:00, Boston Commons._

I put it back in my pocket, and finish off my moonshine.

"Thanks for the drinks, Vadim. I'll see you 'round."

"Yes, be back soon! Hopefully will be less extortion next time!"

As I grab my helmet, I give Yefim a nod and turn to the door.

"You want a _what_?" Arturo looks at me, bewildered by what I just asked for.

"You heard me. I know you've got one, Arturo."

"Yeah, I do, but these things are-"

"Which is why I'm tellin' _you_. Consider this payment."

"Can't you just settle for-"

"No. I can't. This can go two ways, friend. One, you cooperate, and pay your debts. Or, which I really hope doesn't have to happen; your little princess might just vanish again. We wouldn't want that, would we, Arturo?"

I know I've hit the right spot. I don't have much of a problem with intimidating people, but I know it can lead to bad spot sometimes, so I tend not to unless I need to.

"Alright, alright. Here." He grabs the gun I want. A fifty caliber Anti-Material rifle. I caught wind that a couple traders had stopped by a Gun Runner shop near New Vegas, and was headed for Diamond City, and I knew Arturo couldn't pass up one of those.

"Ammo too. Two boxes."

He scowls at me. Despite my opinion of most of the merchants, they all hate me. I've always had to intimidate them to get them to pay their debts in full. I never really charge a specific price from someone who could do me a favor.

"I'll pay for one of them, though. Man like you has to make a livin.'"

I may be a prick, but I'm not a thug. I'll pay for at least one thing when visiting a shop. Common shopper's etiquette.

I hand Arturo his caps, and take the gun and ammo. I put the ammo boxes down and look down the rifle's sights.

"I've always wanted one of these. Pleasure doin' business with you, Arturo." Slinging the rifle over my back with Deadeye, I pick up the ammo and make way to the others, who should be meeting up at the Dugout by now.

When I get back, I pay Yefim for a room and get some rest. The rest are staying up later, except Aelia, we both appreciate sleep more than the others. Besides, I'm the one who's got to talk our clients.

An alarm set up in my helmet begins to beep loudly in my ears, letting me know it's time to meet up with the clients, most likely that Maxson kid.

I leave my room to see still, people having a good time. Not really a surprise. I catch a glimpse of Jared passed out on one of the chairs in the front of the room. Vadim is busy telling one of his far-fetched tales, specifically of fighting a Mirelurk, wearing "nothing but a smile."

I bump shoulders with a stranger, seems to be new around here. We pass each other in silence.

A good ten minutes later, I arrive at Boston Commons, and immediately, I notice a Brotherhood Vertibird.

I approach who I guess is Maxson, but the two Brotherhood pawns, fully geared in Power Armour, step in the way.

"Boys, boys, I'm the man your boss hired."

"We know." The man behind his soldiers says,

"Then get your goons outta the way so we can talk."

"What makes you think we can trust you?"

"What makes you think I couldn't kill all three of you right now? You know what I can do, and if you're as great of a tactician as your goons say you are, you'll know that I'm not bluffing. So come on, let's talk to each other with some old fashioned respect."

Maxson says nothing for a good few minutes, and the silence is eerie, unnatural, even. I've been nowhere in the Wasteland that's been this quiet.

Finally, after three minutes of silence, Maxson calls them off. "Fine."

"That's more like it." I take my helmet off. My dad always told me if I'm going to talk to someone who's hiring me, or who I generally respect, just take the damn helmet off, it shows that you trust and respect them, even if they don't know it. "Payment hasn't changed?"

"No. Still one hundred thousand caps, and forty thousand up front."

"Good. Before I ask what you need done, let me make something to you clear." Fully intent on making his guards tense, I step closer to Maxson, and look him dead in the eye. "We aren't ordinary mercenaries. We aren't cannon fodder, and we aren't amateurs. We know our shit." I point at myself. "And I, I know more about the Mojave, and all the kinds of idiots who live there, than any of you. I know more than you, about how to stay alive, and I, in general, know more, than you. I'm not some idiot following the smell of caps, I know my shit. And if you doubt that, for just a second, we're going to have problems. Got it?"

Returning my intense stare undaunted, Maxson nods. "I've heard of what you've done, Six. I wouldn't find what you say hard to believe."

I smile and give Maxson some space. The guards obviously loosen up. "Good. Glad we understand each other. Where do you need us, and when?"

"Meet back here in six hours. A Vertibird will be waiting for you."

"I'm guessin' we'll be briefed on the flight?"

"Of course."

"Alright. Now, I'll be needing that payment brought to the coordinates on this paper." I reach into my pocket and reveal a slip of paper. Before letting him take it, I pull back and lean forward.

"If I find _anything_ gone or out of place, you and I will be havin' a little chat."

"I'll be sure everything will be left the way it was." After a moment of silence, he senses I'm waiting for his word. "You have my word."

"Good. I'll trust you with this then." I let him have the paper.

"See you in six, Max."

He merely nods as I turn to leave, I hear them talking a bit, but can't make anything out.

"Went pretty well, for Brotherhood. Let's just hope he sticks to his word."


End file.
